


Stars Shine Darkly

by salamandercity



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandercity/pseuds/salamandercity
Summary: Loving this woman would be like stepping off a cliff, Kaab decides. Impossible to take back and unlikely to be survived—but what an exhilarating leap it would be. [Takes place between 3x06 and 3x07.]





	Stars Shine Darkly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/gifts).



Diane de Tremontaine surveyed her party with a feeling suspended somewhere between elation and grief.

It was a commemoration, nominally, of the first snow of winter. In truth, it was in celebration of her victory in the Council of Lords that had proclaimed her Duchess Tremontaine in her own right; she knew her peers had been watching her closely, to see if that swift ascension might be followed by an even swifter fall. It had been a month since then and she had yet to stumble, and so merited, in the eyes of the city, a victory lap. So why did she feel like she was serving chocolate at William’s funeral?

Ah, but there was Lady Trevelyan and her husband. Diane had been looking forward to seeing them tonight. Lady Trevelyan’s nephew was holding a grudge against Lionel Chesney, some nonsense over a horse. When Lady Trevelyan had complained to Diane about it, she had made sympathetic noises and agreed to help the problem resolve _quickly_. After all, Lord Trevelyan was close friends with Lord Perry, who had been considering introducing a measure to change the archaic rules of noble claims to riverbank holdings. Diane quite prefered the rules as they were, and had suggested to Lady Trevelyan that her husband discuss the issue with Perry before it reached the Outer Council.

Lady Trevelyan approached her.

“You look radiant,” Lady Trevelyan said, leaning in close to be heard over the speakers around them. She had tried to disguise one of her gowns from last season by adding some garish embroidery to the sleeves. Diane hadn’t heard of the Trevelyan’s having financial troubles, but filed it away for future use. “Like a small sunrise.”

“As do you,” Diane demurred. She watched as more guests arrived. The Balam family, this time, resplendent as ever. “You shine so brightly, the rest of us must put in some effort to compare.”

Lady Trevelyan, who had clearly been braced for a double-edged comment about her dress, smiled graciously and squeezed her hand. Diane glanced over her shoulder to look... yes, there was Ixkaab Balam. Whatever had driven her from her family in recent months, their relationship seemed to have recovered. She looked particularly glorious in turquoise silk, with bright gold at her belt and arms. Her hair was swept into coils high on her head, rather than in loose braids.

Lady Trevelyan still clung to Diane’s arm like a persistent bird that had found a favored perch, watching the next wave of guests arrive. “Is that Frederick Manning? You certainly have invited a—” Her voice paused for a breath as she seemed to search for a kind term. “—varied crowd.”

Diane gave a long-suffering sigh. “A favor to dear Basil. He was asking me about metalwork tariffs of all things, and I couldn’t help him in the slightest.” In the interest of not seeming to favor the Balam so much that their alliance drew attention to itself, Diane had also invited a small handful of other prestigious merchants. After she dropped some careful hints during a small luncheon, Basil Halliday had requested an opportunity to ask certain merchants some casual questions about an oddly timed wool shortage. Anyone who might have found it prudent to pry into Tremontaine’s affairs would only see the invitation to the Balam as a means to obscure the connection between the merchants that Halliday wished to meet. “Perhaps this will make up for my dreadful ignorance and I won’t lose him as a guest for the rest of the season.”

A flash of bright color broke off from the crowd and went up the stairs. Ixkaab Balam. Diane reached for a biscuit from one of the nearby tables in order to disguise where she was watching. Lady Trevelyan beamed at her and took one as well.

“You are too kind, Diane.” There weren’t nearly as many people along the upper balcony, and Diane was able to track Ixkaab’s progress out of the room and into a far hallway. “I gave your suggestion to Leander and he’s quite enthusiastic.”

Diane nodded. Leander was the idiotic horse-gambling nephew, if Diane remembered the Trevelyan family forest correctly. “I am only glad to help.” She gave a conspiratorial grin. “And I must admit, I look forward to seeing the fight next week. It’s been too long since we had something properly frivolous to enjoy.”

Ixkaab turned a corner and vanished from view. Lady Trevelyan, oblivious to Diane’s distraction, patted her arm.

“Just so. But Leander did try to convince me—”

She was, thankfully, interrupted by a compliment from the Duke of Hartsolt. Diane smiled and exited the conversation.

-

Ixkaab Balam, first daughter of a first daughter, knew how to vanish in a crowd. And what a crowd this was! Even the Xanamwiinik (some of them, at least) were not so crazed as to spend their snowfall party suffering in the elements, but all the curtains had been drawn to show the soft flakes tumbling against the darkening sky. Periodic gusts of chilled air came from the entrance to the garden, where certain guests went out to view the weather more closely. There were not many candles, but the taste of cinnamon in the cider suggested to Kaab that the lack of light was to avoid reflections in the windows, rather than the careful frugality of last year’s Swan Ball.

Kaab waited until her uncle was deep in conversation with someone, then faded to the back of the room. Rafe had complained at length about Diane’s manipulations, including Micah’s tenure as a hostage. And while Kaab gave little credence to Rafe’s dramatic conspiracies of woe (especially as he admitted that Micah seemed happy when he got the chance to visit), she did want to say hello and see for herself that Micah was well.

Rafe had told her where to find Micah’s room. He’d neglected to mention the importance of its location; these Xanamwiinik houses were built less like fortresses than any sensible compound, but the elements of a defensible structure were recognizable even under the lace curtains and layers of decorative scrollwork. Getting to the second story required going past choke points on the stairs. The room was near the end of a the wing, where attackers would have to go past many other rooms and therefore past potential enemies to reach it. This was the same wing that held the library and, as Kaab remembered from her previous visit, the Duchess’s bedroom. The kitchen, with its service entrance and habitual tolerance of strangers bearing supplies, was on the far end of the building.

The duchess knew Micah had been key in figuring out navigational mathematics. Micah’s presence here, then, served as a subtle reminder to the Balam to keep their side of the deal, as well as a guarantee of Rafe’s good behavior. And if the Duchess Tremontaine was not practiced in keeping an eye on valuable hostages, she had learned quickly.

The door was unguarded and unlocked. Micah was sitting at a table, cutting up strips of paper. She looked up and frowned when Kaab walked in.

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

Kaab had forgotten how direct Micah was. She smiled.

“I was not sure I would get the opportunity to come.” Duchess Tremontaine had offered her the chance to visit Micah in the past, but Kaab prefered to examine the situation without the Duchess’ influence muddying the truth. She examined the room they were in. Warm and well-furnished. Unlike the party downstairs, there was no shortage of light.

“Rafe forgets too, sometimes.” Micah sounded resigned. “What do you want?”

Kaab sat on a chair near her, careful not to disturb the swirls and loops of paper that seemed to litter every surface. They didn’t _look_ like they related to navigation...

“It’s been a long time since we spoke.” Of course, to Micah that wasn’t a sufficient reason to visit someone. “I wished to make sure you were well.”

Micah furrowed her eyebrows and twisted the piece of paper. “I’m fine.”

 _She is more suspicious than she was_ , Kaab realized. If Rafe had been similarly careless with his tongue, then Micah had noticed the pattern between Rafe’s concern and Kaab’s, even if she didn’t know the cause. It was uncomfortable, the feeling that things had changed outside the Balam compound while she was frozen in grief. What else had she missed?

But not all things had changed, surely. “What are you working on?” she asked. Micah’s face lit up, and she started to explain her recent studies. Kaab was relieved to learn that it was unmistakably not related to stars or navigation; Micah was no threat to her family, and so Kaab did not need to fear for the girl’s safety, at least from that wellspring. Whether Duchess Tremontaine would follow through on her implied threat to Rafe, if necessary, was another concern.

She became aware of the rustle of silk just beyond her peripheral vision. _Do not jump_ , she reminded herself. _Make yourself seem to belong, and people will believe it_.

That Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, had gambled her identity and future on such a ploy and succeeded was not lost on Kaab as the Duchess walked into her view. Candlelight twinkled in the beadwork on her skirts and bodice, drawing attention to the shadow of her exposed collarbone.

“My dear Ixkaab, you are missing a splendid view.” She moved some of the paper loops with the ease of familiarity and sat down, smoothing her skirts with one graceful movement. “But given your company, I suppose I can understand.”

“The snow falls outside every window, Madam Duchess.” The swirl of white outside Micah’s window was not quite as picturesque as it was at the party below, but Diane nodded, conceding the point.

“Very true. But I do not think Micah would appreciate the viewing party moving into her room.”

Micah looked aghast at the thought. Considering the delicacy of some of her more intricate paper creations, Kaab could hardly blame her.

“Did you want anything else?” she asked Kaab, now clearly envisioning a parade of strangers arriving to peer out her window at the snow.

“Not right now.” Kaab pointed at one of the odder constructions on the desk. It reminded her of some carvings her family had acquired from the sea raiders of Arkenvelt. “I believe I have some drawings that resemble these, though. I could bring them the next time I visit.”

Micah asked further questions, which led to the reminder that Diane was from the north, although not as far north as Arkenvelt. She mentioned some similarities she’d seen in northern tapestries and embroidery, though. Long before they had exhausted the topic, the sky outside the window had darkened, lit only by the reflection of moonlight on falling snowflakes.

Diane sighed. “If we stay here much longer, we will be missed.” She seemed genuinely dismayed to go. Kaab could only imagine what her uncle thought she was up to and nodded in reluctant agreement.

Micah waved absently and returned to her paper loops, this time trying to tie the loop into a knot without breaking or folding it.

The echoes of laughter and music grew louder as Kaab and Diane walked back to the party. Diane spoke first.

“My dear, if you wanted to come visit, you could have simply asked.” Unasked was the implication of _what else were you up to here?_ Kaab could have answered that question, quite truthfully, with _nothing_. But that Diane was worried about what Kaab might be looking for was suggestive. And this would lay the groundwork for if Kaab even needed to break in again.

“It was a last-minute impulse.” Much like the one that had gotten Vincent killed. The duchess nodded solemnly. Kaab found that she couldn’t hold a grudge against Diane for setting up that fight. Ixsaabim, Vincent, Ahtul—grief bludgeoned her at every step, and there Kaab had no strength to carry anger, too.  

And if that allowed her to remain allies, perhaps friends or something more, with this beautiful and dangerous woman...Kaab felt an awareness prickle at the back of her neck that no one could see them.

“How much longer can you be absent from your own party?” Kaab asked. From the lovely pink that gathered in Diane’s cheeks, she had thought of the same thing.

They were both next to a pillar. How easy would it be to take one step, pulling Diane with her, until they were completely hidden from view?

“Not much longer, I’m afraid.”

Diane met her gaze again. There was something inscrutable, almost wary, in it. Perhaps she still worried about revenge on Vincent’s behalf.

 _How easily this woman can destroy lives_. Kaab had done that once, too, blundered into a situation and destroyed someone she loved. In the wake of everything else, her grief for Citlali had faded to background,still twinging in bad weather like and old wound. Was that what Kaab recognized in the duchess and hungered for? A relentless capacity for destruction? She shivered, as if hit by a burst of cold air, and took a step back. Before she could do something irrevocable, she returned to the party.

Her uncle nodded slightly in acknowledgement of her presence, his barely-raised eyebrow an indication that he would expect an explanation later.

Diane had floated to the other side of the room, somehow invisible until, like sunlight on a lake, she drew attention to herself and reflected it back out in radiant charm. From across the room, she momentarily caught Kaab's eyes in an invitation or a challenge.

But Kaab was here on business tonight as well. Her uncle beckoned her over. He was in conversation with a Xanamwiinik merchant. The air between them stank of hostility, and Uncle Ahchuleb seemed tense.

"Master Greenglass," Chuleb was saying, "I do not believe you've met my niece, Ixkaab."

Greenglass nodded and gave a half-bow. Kaab noticed that he did not, as many Xanamwiinik men seemed to do, try to reach out and take her hand for a kiss. She did not care for the gesture, but its absence was an obvious insult.

"I remember. You made a memorable speech," he said. "We were just discussing those thefts we’ve been having."

"Oh, are your warehouses so close to ours?" Kaab asked, keeping her face bland. She knew the name Greenglass and of course the answer was _yes_ , but it would be impolitic to show off that knowledge. The fact that Chuleb had introduced her—something about Greenglass worried him, but Kaab did not know what it was. The now too-familiar sensation of crossing tightrope over dark waters gripped her heart. She did not know what would happen if she fell, but there was no doubt that it would be bad.

“Yes.” He shook his head like a restless horse. “I thought that, now that we’ve handled that little Riverside problem, perhaps this would be next. You esteemed uncle would be welcome at some of our meetings with the City Council.”

So that was his game. Kaab had gotten the City Council to help bring justice for the Kinwiinik, now Greenglass hoped that the Balam would pay back that assistance by applying their leverage to the City Council for...for what, Kaab couldn’t guess, but it was clear from Chuleb’s face that he had no desire to get bogged down in Xanamwiinik politics.

“That is a generous offer,” she said. “We had not yet gotten an invitation to your Merchant’s Confederation. We had started to think it would never arrive.”

Greenglass’ mouth twitched, and he went an odd, sickly color. “That is not—that is to say, this isn’t an invitation to the City Council.” Kaab imagined how she would feel if one of these foreigners tried to invite themselves to speak to the Batab and managed to feel a sliver of pity for Greenglass. “But if you wished to speak to the City Council again, this time about our shared interests—”

Kaab frowned. Greenglass was graceless, but persistent. As she opened her mouth to try something less subtle, Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, floated into view.

She had in tow a noble—it took Kaab a moment to recognize him from the disastrous Swan Ball months before—Karleigh, she thought his name was.

“Master Greenglass,” Diane trilled. Kaab took advantage of Greenglass’ startlement to move out of his direct line of sight. “You _must_ meet the Duke of Karleigh.” She shot a confiding look at Karleigh. “He was involved in that dreadful Riverside business, you know.”

Karleigh blinked. “I do not follow the affairs of Riverside or of merchants.”

“You hadn’t heard? They sent the Watch down to roust some murderers out of Riverside. They had to lay outside the bridges for days, I heard. A real siege, like an old story of the kings.”

With each word, Karleigh’s face grew a more interesting shade of scarlet, Kaab noticed. Diane somehow managed to seem oblivious to Karleigh’s growing concern while also blocking Greenglass’ attempt to quietly sidle away.

“That sounds. Fascinating.” Karleigh’s voice was dangerously flat. “Come, you must tell me about it.

Diane smiled and let them walk away, turning to join another passing cluster of nobles without stopping to speak to Kaab. This left Kaab free to observe Greenglass’ frantic hand gestures. He seemed to be downplaying something—the effectiveness of the Watch, perhaps, or the length of the siege? But he wasn’t implicating her, even in the face of Karleigh’s wrath. Being seen as a dangerous upstart was a form of power, although it wasn’t one the Balam could safely wield in a foreign land. If someone was going to get burned threatening the authority of Xanamwiinik nobles, Kaab was content to let it be Greenglass.

Ixkaab Balam, first daughter of a first daughter, watched in astonishment as Greenglass, faced with a threat and an opportunity, proceeded to forget about her existence. From across the room, Diane's gray eyes made contact with hers, and Kaab realized what had just happened. Diane, Duchess Tremontaine, was _showing off_.

* * *

Diane was surprised at the warm glow of satisfaction as Ixkaab Balam nodded slightly at her in acknowledgement of the favor she had been done. More, Diane realized, it was acknowledgement of the skill with which it had been accomplished. Someone seeing her, _knowing_ , was exhilarating. With Ixkaab Balam, she had no hidden advantages.

Diane enjoyed the sweet taste of accomplishment for only a heartbeat. Her moment was broken by the unmistakable sound of someone challenging Lionel Chesney to a fight to the first blood. She glanced at Lady Trevelyan, who was carefully not meeting her gaze.

That Trevelyan had chosen to stage this fight here, without consulting her, was an intolerable insult. Diane wrapped her fingers around her cup of chocolate to stop them from tightening in anger and put plans of retribution to the side, to be more closely examined later. For now, she had more pressing concerns.

She had quietly encouraged this duel, knowing that Lionel, given warning, could hire a swordsman who would almost certainly prevail. She had not been expecting it to occur tonight. Diane couldn't offer her house swordsman for assistance, even in the guise of a gracious host. She had yet to replace Vincent Applethorpe as her first swordsman, and offering her second would draw attention to that. Davenant was somewhere in this room. If she revealed one vulnerability to defend Lionel Chesney, there was no doubt that Davenant would recognize the significance of that.

It wasn’t unheard of for a noble to defend himself against an honorable challenge, especially a non-lethal one. But traditionally, the defeated noble would then retreat from society for some time in recognition of his defeat—Diane would prefer that Lionel stay in the City, where he was useful, but there was no doubt in her mind that he would lose this fight.

She began to calculate how she would need to adjust for his absence in the coming weeks, but stopped when Ixkaab Balam stepped forward to speak.

* * *

Kaab saw the slight widening of Diane's eyes that showed her concern. This was not how it was supposed to go. Their eyes met, Diane's gray to Ixkaab's brown, a message as quickly as a flutter of wings.

"I claim the challenge." She still knew the words, had heard the explanation from Vincent—a sharp pang that she could ill-afford right now—many times. A soft murmur rippled through the guests, to her mild annoyance. They knew she had fought! Surely it could be no surprise that she would do so now.

She made the mistake of looking at her uncle. His lips were tight, and she didn't need to get close enough to hear what he might say.

 _We cannot afford to lose you to this Xanamwiinik foolishness_. She took care to pass by him on her way forward and whisper, "I do not intend to lose."

It was, thank goodness, a fight to the first blood. Kaab did not know if she could bring herself to kill this stranger for others' amusement. He was discomfited, clearly, by her foreignness and femaleness.

"You have no sword." His voice was half challenge, half plea.

She had left it at home, not anticipating a need for it as a Balam and a guest. Likewise, wanting to demonstrate a respectability that befit her new responsibilities, she was wearing the awful Local skirts instead of trousers.

"I will borrow one." She held her hand out to one of the men standing by Diane's challenged boy. She would have borrowed Chesney’s—it looked of a length with her own—but she suspected he might refuse, already offended and off-kilter by a woman stepping in to claim to the fight.

For a moment, it looked like this man, too, might refuse. Then someone behind her muttered "go ahead, Nevilleson, she's that chit that fought at the Condell party." He was shushed by another, but the words had already made their impact. Nevilleson reddened and relinquished the blade.

She took a few experimental steps to ensure she wouldn't trip over her hem using basic footwork and sighed as they rustled around her legs. She could move, even lunge, but they would preclude anything more acrobatic than that. At least she had abstained from the stays, so common in Local clothing, that would stop her from breathing fully.

She nodded, indicating her readiness. With a deep sigh that suggested he’d been hoping she’d change her mind, the swordsman gave a traditional, if abbreviated, salute. She returned it.

As soon as they dropped their salutes, he charged forward. She scrambled back, lifting her blade against the clang of his attack, until she was out of his range. He didn’t pursue further, clearly happy to have her far away, where his longer arms and blade could pick her off. There was a rumble among the guests, muted in her ears as if from a distance. Nevilleson’s sword was ornate, decorative, and covered with useless scrollwork on the hilt. Her arm was getting more tired than she was used to.

She would have to end this quickly. She eyed him and parried his next thrust. It was an experimental foray, not nearly as aggressive as his first attack. Their first exchange had taught him that she wouldn’t be an easy victory, at least.

He was doing what Vincent had told her not to do, trying to watch her limbs instead of her eyes. From the nervous downward flicking of his gaze, she realized that, because of the skirts, he had no idea what her feet were doing.

She feinted at his shoulder and slid her foot forward, moving close enough for a lunge.

 _There_ , she had an opening, she dropped the blade and moved her hilt off-line and—

As she realized where her blow would land, she wanted to change her angle, rip the man’s sleeve but leave him unscratched. She would not kill another person for Xanamwiinik entertainment.

As she felt resistance against her blade, heard the sound of ripping cloth, pulled back into a defensive stance, she thought she had done it. If Vincent had left a ghost, he was surely watching her with scorn now.

But there, a bloom of scarlet against pale cloth. She had blooded him after all. A long scratch along the surface, not a thrust into the arm where the wound would be deep and could fester. If her opponent mistook the relief on her face as joy in victory, she would not tell him otherwise.

Remembering certain fights in Riverside, she waited until he nodded and lowered his sword in grudging respect before lowering her own. It took every ounce of self control not to throw the borrowed weapon back at the man who had loaned it her. He approached carefully, as if nervous to reclaim it. There was a dark streak of blood on the foible, but she had nothing with which to wipe it off. Ignoring the ghost of disappointment at the back of her mind, she pushed it into Nevilleson’s hands still bloody. He held it at a distance, as if it were a _nauyacater_ that might bite him.

Now, too late to do her any good, her blood seemed to sing with excitement, drowning out language. She dodged a question from one of the curious nobles and retreated to the safety of her family. Uncle Chuleb gave her one reproachful glance, but then proceeded to deflect or distract all who tried to approach her.

All except one.

“I often wonder if that is exhausting as it looks.” The Duchess Tremontaine stood in front of her, hands folded around a porcelain cup. If Kaab’s heart could have gone faster, it might have, but it still galloped from the fight.

* * *

 

There was something indecent in Kaab's poise. She seemed alert and attentive, ready for a conversation, a dance, another fight. _If you're going to make someone bleed,_ Diane thought sourly, _you should at least have the decency to look tired at the end of it._ She had been exhausted the night she had come to the city, and even more so after sending Applethorpe and Kaab against each other.

Ixkaab Balam, on the other hand, looked like she had taken a quick stroll around the garden. There was a fine sheen of sweat across her forehead from the exertion of the fight, not quite enough to entirely overwhelm the underlying scent of orchids. It was different than the rich scent of jasmine and desire that Diane associated with Esha, but no less intriguing.

Aware of all the people around them, and even more watching, she took a step back to clear her head.

She had thought, until now, that her relationship with Ixkaab Balam had been irreparably shattered by a single destructive impulse. And perhaps it was. There was the possibility that this had been a gambit of revenge, to use Applethorpe's teachings to put Diane in Kaab's debt.

She needed to know. More importantly, she needed to get back to a position of advantage.

It would be dangerous to be too direct. She was in her own house, but Kaab was surrounded by allies. _Caution_.

“You build up a great deal of stamina when learning to duel." Kaab stretched an arm across the sofa invitingly. "But please, will you not sit down?"

"This conversation won't take that long." There was a ripple of intrigue among those guests who were watching from a distance. _Good_. As much as she wanted to sit hip to hip with Kaab, breathe her in, she needed certain guests to think she disapproved of Kaab's actions. "It's been too long since we last spoke, Mistress Balam."

“We’ve both been busy. I believe this is when your people bring in the harvest?”

"That was several weeks ago, but it did require some guidance.” Diane waved a hand as if shaking off a drop of water. With a different audience she might have lamented William’s absence— _”he was so clever about these things”_ —but everyone in earshot would know her for false. “But yes, you understand our conventions well. As I recall, the last time we spoke, you had a great deal of weaving to complete in preparation for winter?" _Have you sorted out which threads are entrapping you and which ones you can easily cut?_

"I am not as skilled with fine threads as my aunt was, but I am a quick study." There it was, that hunter's smile. Diane had noted its absence in their last conversation. It seemed that Kaab had recovered, somewhat, from the tight weariness of grief that had haunted her the last time they spoke, and her new responsibilities had not robbed her of that dangerous edge that made her so intriguing.

"I'm pleased to hear that." She traced a painted vine on the cup with the tip of her finger. "If you’re so busy, I’m surprised you have the energy left to create quite a stir in my sedate gathering.”

"I did create something of a spectacle." Kaab said, her voice totally absent of contrition. “I must apologize, Madam Duchess.”

"We should meet later this week, to discuss how you can make it up to me." _I do not like being in debt to people, Ixkaab Balam_.

From the languid roll of her shoulders, Kaab knew exactly what had brought the extra note of steel into Diane's voice.

"It would be my pleasure."

 


End file.
